


Write Our Own Story

by Linsky



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mention of past relationships, but only sort of, wish babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky
Summary: Jamie never thought he'd get a wish baby.Turns out he was right.
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 50
Kudos: 389





	Write Our Own Story

**Author's Note:**

> For JTP! Hope you enjoy this take on your excellent prompt. XD
> 
> ([Tumblrrrr](https://linskywords.tumblr.com))

Jamie’s never thought that he might get a wish baby.

He’s aware of them as a thing, obviously. He’s seen the romantic comedies; he’s heard the rumors about celebrities. He’s even known a handful of former wish babies in real life: a couple of kids on his street growing up, some of the guys he’s played with. Sometimes when he’s messing around on the internet he’ll come across an article about them, and sometimes he’ll even read them: new theories on where wish babies come from, recent surveys that have found them to be different from the general population or the same as the general population or whatever. He’s not uninterested, exactly.

It’s just that he never thought they’d be relevant to his life. Wish babies are for a specific type of person: the ones who should have a baby and just can’t for some reason. The perfect would-be mothers and fathers who are struggling with infertility; the gay couples who can’t have a baby naturally; even the single people who would be great at raising a child and just don’t have a partner to help them get one. Not people like Jamie, who’ve proven pretty definitely that he doesn’t have enough left over after hockey to handle another adult, let alone a baby.

Which is why he doesn’t even think of wish babies when he hears the cry from the front porch. It’s his day off—a rare full one, in the middle of a busy season—and Jamie’s relaxing on the couch, doing a whole lot of nothing on his tablet and pretending the house isn’t too quiet around him. It’s been a month since Katie broke up with him; he should be used to this by now.

When he hears the cry, he thinks it’s kids playing on the street or whatever. But then it comes again, sounding weirdly close, so he gets up to investigate.

He still doesn’t think of wish babies. It doesn’t sound like a baby, really; more like an animal. And wish babies aren’t just supposed to show up on your doorstep like that. There’s a whole narrative to it: you feel compelled; you rush out to your front yard, not knowing what to expect but knowing to expect _something;_ and the baby floats down to you from the heavens, sparkling in the morning sunlight. That’s how it happens in the stories, anyway. So wish babies don’t even cross Jamie’s mind until he looks down and sees the basket full of blankets on his welcome mat.

He almost shuts the door again. Not even out of rejection, just—disbelief. It’s not possible. The universe can’t have sent _him_ a wish baby. There has to be some mistake.

For a minute he just stares at it. Then he gets up the courage to bend down and fold back the blankets, and he realizes that yeah, actually, there was some mistake. Because that—that is not a wish baby. That is a cat.

Jamie blinks at its furry side. Then he peels back some more of the blankets. It is definitely a cat: it has brown fur, and ears, and whiskers. Kind of big for a cat, fluffier than most house cats Jamie’s seen in his life, but definitely a cat. There’s not really any way to be wrong about it.

The cat is sprawled on its side. It opens one yellow-green eye and stares up at Jamie. It must not be impressed by what it sees, because it gives another _mrow_ and closes its eye and goes back to sleeping in the sun.

Jamie picks up the white piece of paper tucked into the side of the basket. It’s heavier than he expects: thick paper, card stock, with uneven edges like it was made by hand. Printed on it, in fancy letters that are slightly textured under his fingers, is a single word: _Maximus._

Jamie may not have been paying the most attention to wish babies of anyone on the planet. But he’d have to have been living under a rock not to recognize a wish baby naming card when he has one in his actual physical hand.

He stares at the card for maybe ten seconds. Then he pulls out his phone and clicks on his recent contacts. He doesn’t know much about what’s going on here, but he sure as shit isn't going to handle it alone.

***

Tyler gets there ten minutes later. “Great timing, I was just about to walk the dogs.”

Jamie’s made it into the living room by this point, but he looks up at the word _dogs._ “Uh, do you have them with you?”

“Hm? Yeah, I let them into the backyard,” Tyler says. “Is that a problem?”

“Uh,” Jamie says. “I guess not.” He’s not sure. It should be fine to have them in the backyard. Probably. He doesn’t know; he’s having trouble thinking through anything right now.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on? You’re being _so_ weird right now,” Tyler says.

Jamie gestures at the coffee table in front of him. “I have—well. I have—that, now.”

Tyler comes up to peer over the back of the couch. “Dude! Is that a cat?”

“Yes,” Jamie says. It’s definitely a cat. He’s checked a bunch of times.

“Awesome!” Tyler asks. “Why is it all swaddled up, though? It looks like a wish baby.”

“Well,” Jamie says. He gets caught on the next words. It just feels so dumb when he thinks about saying them out loud.

Tyler’s eyes slowly widen. “Whoa. Is it really— _whoa._ ”

“Yeah,” Jamie says.

“Dude.” Tyler’s face is melting into a huge smile. “Seriously? That’s awesome!”

“What,” Jamie says.

“You got a cat! A—a wish cat. That’s, like, the best thing ever.” Tyler comes around the couch and reaches toward the box.

“Careful—” Jamie says, but Tyler’s already started petting the cat. It doesn’t seem to mind: it stretches under his hand, arching its back and pushing its paws against the side of the box.

“Aw, it’s so soft,” Tyler says. “Who’s the best little kitty? Yeah, you are.”

“You’re not, um.” Jamie stops to clear his throat. “You’re not weirded out?”

“Why would I be weirded out?” Tyler looks up at him with a grin, still petting the cat. “Like, I guess a dog would be even better, but this is great. You can totally take care of it and still travel and stuff.”

“But…” There’s no way Tyler thinks this is normal. “Tyler, it’s a _cat._ A cat that arrived like a wish baby.”

“So? I bet that happens all the time.”

“No. It really doesn’t.” Jamie looked this up while he was waiting for Tyler to come over. When he should probably have been doing something more productive like buying cat food, but nope. “Sometimes wish babies are twins or a little older or younger than usual or whatever, but they’re never just—cats.”

“Their loss, then, because this guy is amazing,” Tyler says, like he doesn’t see any problem with this at all.

He probably doesn’t. He’s probably never even had to think about this kind of thing. “Tyler,” Jamie says. “Wish babies are about, like, the family you’re supposed to have.”

“Right,” Tyler says, looking up.

“So…so I got a cat.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, like he still doesn’t get it.

Jamie puts his hands in his pockets. He kind of doesn’t want to say any of this now, but it’s definitely too late. “And, I mean, Katie and I broke up last month, and…”

He trails off. Tyler looks at him blankly for a minute, then at the cat. Then he cracks up.

“Dude,” he says, gasping through his laughter. “You cannot possibly think this is—”

Jamie hunches his shoulders. “Shut up, it’s not funny.”

It’s too late. Tyler’s already crumpled on the couch. “No, dude, no way. You’re not even a chick!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jamie mumbles.

“There’s no way you’re going to become a _cat lady._ ”

“I,” Jamie says, and then cuts himself off. Because maybe he’s not going to be a cat lady exactly, but what does it matter, if it means he’s gonna be alone forever?

To Tyler’s credit, he seems to make an effort to stop laughing and look serious in the face of Jamie’s misery. “Jamie. Bro,” he says. “You are being so ridiculous right now. You have a cat. It doesn’t mean this is the only thing you’re ever gonna get.”

Jamie shrugs. It’s true that there’s no rule that a wish baby is the only kid you’ll have or anything like that. But getting a wish cat from the universe—it seems like a pretty clear sign.

“Not like I’ve been making relationships work well so far,” he says.

“Yeah, _so far._ It’s not like you’re a—an old maid or something,” Tyler says, lip twitching.

“I chose hockey,” Jamie says miserably. “I choose hockey every day. I mean—you get it. It’s not like I don’t want—anything else, I just—”

He cuts himself off. He doesn’t want to rehash the things Katie said to him. He’s already said most of this to Tyler anyway, on drunken nights after the breakup.

Tyler’s shaking his head. “Uh-uh. Fuck that, man. Just because shit fell apart with one person doesn’t mean no one else is ever gonna love you. Trust me, I _know._ ”

He’s looking at Jamie really earnestly. As if by the power of his will alone he can turn Jamie into someone who’s going to be able to make someone else happy, despite his terrible schedule and his bad conversational skills and his cluelessness about other people’s emotions.

“We should—we should look up veterinarians,” Jamie says.

That part ends up being easy, because of course Tyler already has a veterinarian. Five minutes later, Jamie’s on the phone with Dr. Osserman while Tyler tries to coax Maximus out of his basket by dangling a string.

“Well, it sounds like he’s in pretty good health,” the doctor says when Jamie’s done describing him. “We’ll want to make you an appointment to check for a chip, but it doesn’t sound like there are urgent health issues. You said you found him on your property?”

“Uh,” Jamie says. “Yeah.”

“We’ll let you know if we get any missing cat reports,” the vet says. “But if no one’s looking for him, and he doesn’t have a chip—congratulations on your new cat, Mr. Benn.”

Jamie watches as Maximus cracks one eye open, lazily watching the string Tyler is trying to tempt him with. “Thanks,” he says.

***

The next step is buying cat food. Jamie’s half tempted to repurpose some of the dog food Tyler leaves at his place for the boys, but he knows that’s a bad idea even without Tyler’s outraged objections. “Maximus is a _king,_ Jamie, you gotta feed him right,” Tyler says.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Jamie says, eying the cat sideways. Maximus is still in his basket, snoozing away. Jamie hasn’t actually tried touching him yet.

The girl at PetSmart with the rainbow hair is more skeptical of Jamie’s story than the vet was. “You said he just wandered onto your property?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie says. “I mean, he was hanging around. A lot. So I figured he didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You shouldn’t feed cats that don’t belong to you,” she says.

“Right, I know,” Jamie says. “I won’t, um—I mean, I’ll make sure no one’s looking for him. But in the meantime I want to give him food, so, uh, if you have any recommendations.”

She still doesn’t look like she believes him, but finally she says, “Aisle four. Anything standard should work. You can’t really go wrong,” so, great, why was Jamie even bothering to talk to her?

He’s tempted to get one of the small bags with only a couple weeks’ worth of food in them. But it’s not like Maximus is going anywhere. Whatever Jamie’s been telling the vet or the store clerk, there isn’t going to be an owner coming out of the woodwork. Maximus is here for good.

Besides, the bigger bags are better value.

Half an hour later, Jamie’s pulling into his driveway with a scratching post, cat carrier, harness and leash, and at least twenty-five other things Tyler insisted he has to have. It’s a good thing he’s rich.

They go inside, and Maximus’s basket is empty. Jamie has about a three-second heart attack before he spots Maximus sitting on the room divider between the living room and kitchen. He’s sitting very upright, like a cat in a cartoon drawing, his paws neatly in front of him and his tail swinging down. He regards Jamie with his unblinking yellow-green eyes.

“Uh, hey,” Jamie says. “We got you some food?”

Maximus deigns to come down when Jamie fills a bowl with the recommended amount of food for him. He sniffs at it and then starts eating—delicately, nothing like how Tyler’s dogs devour anything that’s put in front of them. He eats the whole bowl, and when he’s done, he lifts his head and lets Jamie scratch him behind the ears.

“Aw, see, you guys are gonna get along great,” Tyler says, coming into the room.

“Yeah, totally,” Jamie says, and goes to clean out the cat bowl. At least he’s not failing at taking care of a cat so far. Pretty sad that the universe was right about him.

***

Tyler and the dogs stay through dinner. This wasn’t exactly how Jamie expected he’d spend his day off—adjusting to a wish cat—but it’s pretty great to have Tyler around this much. It’s maybe not the reason Jamie would have chosen for his presence, but it could be worse.

They grill some steaks for dinner, for themselves and for the dogs, because Tyler loves spoiling them. Afterward they flop on couches in the den with the dogs at their feet. Maximus isn’t in the room exactly, but Jamie’s seen him prowling around the edges, like he’s thinking about making an approach.

“It sucks that he already has a name,” Tyler says. “Otherwise we could have come up with one.”

“Like I’d let you name anything,” Jamie says.

“Um, excuse me, how dare you,” Tyler says. “I did a great job with the boys.”

Jamie laughs. “You know, you’re right. Okay, I would let you name a cat.”

“Thank you,” Tyler says, satisfied, and shifts his head so it’s lying on Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie wishes he wouldn’t do that. Not that he doesn’t like it. It just reminds him too much of things he wants. Not that he wants—no. He shut that idea down a long time ago. But it makes his stomach feel funny in a way he really doesn’t need tonight.

“What would you name him?” Jamie asks.

“I don’t know, something awesome,” Tyler says. “Like Thor, or Impala.”

“Maximus is already a pretty intense name,” Jamie says.

“Hm, yeah. Maybe the universe didn’t do too bad a job,” Tyler says. “Oh, look who’s here.”

Maximus is walking carefully into the room, avoiding the sleeping dogs. He jumps up onto the arm of the couch and starts padding towards them.

“I think he’s gonna come cuddle you,” Tyler says.

“Great,” Jamie says, trying to sound enthusiastic. He supposes he should get used to it. This is gonna be his life now: evenings spent alone—well, when he can’t lure Tyler over—cuddling his cat.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Tyler asks.

“What? No,” Jamie says. “I totally do.”

“Oh my God, Jamie,” Tyler says. “Are you still thinking about it?”

“No!” Jamie says. “I’m thinking about…names.”

“It’s totally not a thing,” Tyler says. “The universe did not send you a wish cat because it knows you’re going to be alone forever. Maybe you just secretly wanted a cat.”

“I don’t think I did,” Jamie says.

“Subconsciously or whatever,” Tyler says. “Maybe the universe just wanted you to have something to snuggle.”

“Right. Because I’m going to be alone forever,” Jamie says. The cat won’t even live forever, though. He wonders if he’ll get more cats. Cat ladies usually have a bunch, right? He should be proactive about it, go buy some himself.

Tyler kicks him a little. “Oh my God, you are _not_ going to be alone forever.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jamie mumbles.

He shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t quite mean to. “Why, ’cause I get into so many relationships?” Tyler asks, laughing up at him.

“You could,” Jamie says.

“Obviously,” Tyler says. “And so could you.”

“It’s…” _not the same,_ is what he wants to say. Jamie knows he isn’t ugly or anything. But there’s not ugly, and then there’s…well, then there’s Tyler, and Jamie is definitely not Tyler.

“It’s not that easy,” he says instead. “It’s not, like, that big a deal. I guess most people get to have love and family and whatever and there have to be some people who don’t. It’s kind of nice that the universe sent me a cat instead.”

“Ugh, you fucker.” Tyler sits up. “That is _not_ why the universe sent you that cat.”

“How do you know?” Jamie asks.

Tyler huffs a sigh. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’re even making me do this. This was not supposed to be this hard.”

Jamie narrows his eyes at him. “Tyler. What’s going on?”

“Just, don’t be mad, okay?” Tyler says. “The universe didn’t send you the cat. I did.”

“What?” Jamie doesn’t mean for his voice to go high-pitched, but it does.

Tyler holds up his hands in defense. “It was dumb, I’m sorry! It’s just, you’ve been so sad since Katie, and it sucks that you have to live in this big house all alone. I just wanted you to have someone to keep you company.”

This is so weird. Jamie can’t believe it’s happening. “So you…wrapped it up like a wish baby,” he says slowly.

Tyler makes a face. “I thought this way, I don’t know, you’d be all excited. I didn’t count on you having all these weird theories about what it meant.”

“Tyler. That’s.” Jamie pauses. “That’s _ridiculously_ nice.”

Tyler face lights up. “Yeah?”

“You gave me a cat wrapped up like a wish baby so I wouldn’t be alone. That’s _so_ weird. But also so nice.”

Tyler’s grinning now, the really happy one he gets sometimes. “Well, I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Jamie laughs. It feels easy to laugh, after the day of feeling so dragged down. The cat isn’t a message from the universe at all. He feels almost buoyant.

“So, see, I told you,” Tyler says. “The universe isn’t telling you you’re gonna be alone forever.”

“Hey, I still could be,” Jamie says, lightly now. “You don’t know.”

“Ugh, stop being dumb,” Tyler says. “Like you even could be. You’re, like, the best person, and you’re stupid fucking hot, there’s no way everyone passes that up.”

Jamie feels like pop rocks are going off in his stomach. “You think I’m hot?”

There’s a moment where Tyler’s face freezes. Then he slides on a smirk. “I mean,” he says, like he’s gonna play it off as a joke.

It’s too late, though. Jamie’s heart is thundering in his ears. He reaches out and hooks a finger into the neck of Tyler’s shirt.

The joking falls out of Tyler’s face. Jamie looks at him for a moment, just long enough to make sure he’s not about to do something so colossally stupid he won’t be able to come back from it. Then he pulls Tyler in for a kiss.

Tyler’s mouth is hot and shocked on his. Then it’s warm and soft, and he’s melting against Jamie, making sparks go off in Jamie’s skull. It’s—it’s so unexpected, and so, _so_ good. 

“Jamie, oh my God,” Tyler breathes against his mouth, and a moment later Jamie finds himself being tumbled onto the couch cushions under all the enthusiasm of a happy Tyler.

They would probably lose hours to that, except that after a couple of minutes something lands on Jamie’s head and makes him shriek. Tyler jerks back in surprise—and they both see Maximus strutting off toward the other end of the couch.

Tyler starts giggling. “Fucking cockblock,” he says. “I should never have gotten him for you.”

“But you did,” Jamie says. He traces Tyler’s lips with his finger. “Hey. You got me a wish cat.”

Tyler’s face goes all soft. “Yeah, I did,” he says, ducking his head to nuzzle Jamie’s chin. “You don’t have to keep him if you don’t want to. I know—I mean, you said you weren’t thinking about a cat, and, well, you don’t need him anymore. Now that you have me.”

There’s something shy in his tone on that last part. Tentative, like he thinks maybe Jamie’s going to argue. “How about we take care of him together,” Jamie says, and Tyler’s face lights up again, bright enough that Jamie has to lean in to taste it.

It’s funny. Jamie didn’t think he was waiting for this. If someone had asked him a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t even have said he was hoping for it. But it's like with wish babies: sometimes you get what you want even when you didn’t know you wanted it. The universe is smarter than you are, and right now, kissing Tyler, Jamie’s pretty sure the universe is on the right track.


End file.
